Beautiful, Perfect, Wrong
by Snow Illusion
Summary: These were the words of their affair. Set during Sixth Year. [OneShot. Short. HarryLuna.]


Beautiful, Perfect,Wrong

Written by: Snow Illusion

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Well, this was wrong.

This was undeniably, horribly, self-satisfying, selfish, inhumane, crazy wrong.

But if it was so wrong, why did it feel so damn good?

He didn't even know how it happened. At one moment he had strayed into the library after hours and was surprised to see her there, pouring over books, her hair dripping onto the pages and hanging lifelessly over the desk. And the next, they had found themselves in his bed, was it even his, in between the sheets, holding each other with such ferocity that they might've thought either one of them might disappear at any second.

God knows he had been stressed that day. Something about homework, he couldn't even remember now. Ron and Hermione's screeching arguments echoing inside his head until he thought he might just scream just to hear anything else. Ginny and her burning green eyes that scorched so hard into his chest that the monster roared in pain. Her hand in his made the skin on his palm itch. He retracted it to his side and told her he wasn't feeling well. Her lips curled to one side, as if she knew something he didn't. Ginny liked to believe she knew Harry better than he knew himself. She gave him a pat on the back and told him that he knew where to find her when he was ready.

He had then paced around Hogwarts for hours on end, not sure where he was going or why he was walking. And then, finally, the squelching of Filch's shoes behind him and he was running, desperate to find somewhere he could hide. He had been out so long, he forgot the Marauder's Map. He dived into the nearest open door, the library. He was panting heavily, his dark hair matted to his sweaty forehead, his glasses sliding ominously down his nose. The footsteps finally pattered off into nothing and he heaved a sigh of relief.

The flickering of a dying lamp caught his attention and he was surprised to find another student when all of them were supposed to be sleeping. She looked up and smiled.

"Well, hello. Would you like to join me?" she inquired in a light, floaty voice. It was sweet and gave extreme comfort to Harry's beating heart.

He gulped and made his way over to her. She blinked her large crystal blue orbs of eyes, her long lashes illuminated in the dim light of the library. Her smile drooped when Harry didn't respond for sometime and she stood to her feet as well.

Harry's focus strayed to her hand, which was now rising slowly. It came to cup his cheek and it was cool, so cool and refreshing. He placed his own over his and closed his eyes. This was it. This was perfect understanding. No need for conversation. She knew him, she knew what he needed. Just simple human contact to realize he wasn't the only one dying in this pain-staking world. He wasn't the only one.

He opened his green eyes and met hers. They were both smiling dreamily.

And then, Harry didn't know how, he didn't know why, he was on top of her, and they were naked. They were definitely naked. It didn't matter though, nothing mattered. All that mattered was that he was as close to her as he was ever going to be, he was in her, was a part of her. Two souls intertwining and becoming one. It was beautiful, really. If only it wasn't so wrong.

He gave one last, soul-shattering moan of ecstasy and buried his face into her dishwater blonde hair. She kissed his closed eye-lids. He rolled off onto his back and curled the sheets around his torso.

She sighed.

"Do you know that when two people engage in sexual intercourse it releases pure energy into the atmosphere and actually heals the o-zone layer?"

He couldn't help but laugh and gathered her into his arms. She giggled and he kissed to the top of her head. She was so beautiful.

After awhile, however, it was time for her to go.

This was, after all, wrong. He was Harry Potter. The Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, a Gryffindor, the grief-ridden godson of Sirius black, and yes, the boyfriend of Ginny Weasley. And that's all he would ever be.

And she knew that, and she knew she couldn't change it. She wouldn't want to change it. Their affair would be perfect. She would not ruin it. She sat up, turning her back to him. He propped himself on an elbow. No tears stained either of their cheeks.

"I love you, Harry," she said before she let the sheet drop and exposed all of her creamy skin to him. He skimmed her back with the pads of his fingertips. So beautiful.

He nodded. She knew he felt the same way, but it could never be. Never in a hundred years. He was still just Harry Potter, a boy who didn't know where he was going in life.

He watched her gathering her clothes, knowing he would never see her bare body again. The monster in his chest was clawing at his ribs; punishment for cheating on Ginny.

Her pink lips grazed his chapped ones briefly. One last kiss.

And with that, Harry Potter watched Luna Lovegood walk away.


End file.
